


Truths Like Beautiful Flowers

by nhixxie



Series: Truths [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, anyways this is as slow a slow burn i can ever muster, because guess what I'm a trope loving trash, president's son/bodyguard AU, this is me and i will not apologize for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21723220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhixxie/pseuds/nhixxie
Summary: “And this is Alec Lightwood, who will be running point.” Luke says, “If you need anything, or if you have any questions, he’s your go-to.”It’s embarrassing how time screeches to a maddening stop within Magnus’ world. Alec Lightwood is—how do you say—fucking beautiful. It takes all of Magnus to not say the words aloud.  His head of security extends a hand, and Magnus tries not to too enthusiastically take the offered handshake. Alec Lightwood’s palm is warm against his, roughened at certain points of contact, and he can’t help but file away the little piece of information for himself.“Looking forward to working with you, sir.” Alec says, respectful but authoritative.Magnus feels like imploding.“Not as much as I am.”OR a president's son/secret service agent AU.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Truths [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565524
Comments: 80
Kudos: 585
Collections: Hunter's Moon Fic Recs





	Truths Like Beautiful Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a one-shot version of one of Truths Like Beautiful Flowers (the ficlet now renamed Truths Like Verdant Earth to make way for this one), which started as an entry to Ficlet Instruments. If you're coming from that work before reading this, I would treat this as it's own story and not as a continuation. I initially wanted to just make this as a chapter 2 of some sort, but it didn't quite pan out the way I planned. Anyway, enjoy the tropey, mutual pining!
> 
> As usual I'm @nhixxie on twitter, and I follow and post under #nhixxiefic for all fanfic writing things.

  


Anderson Cooper 360 blares over the flat screen before them, a map of the United States stretched across it with shades of red and blue swatched in non-distinct patterns. The electoral map is at a sixty-fifty, with some speckle of yellow over several states where no projections has yet to be made. Asmodeus Bane is slowly creeping forward, a five percent lead edging his tally over his counterpart. 

“Looks like the Banes are moving into the White House.” Izzy murmurs, her agenda laid out on the coffee table before her alongside her open online calendar. Being a records management analyst ensures that her timetable is never empty, and the amount of scribbles on the pages is testament to that. It makes Alec’s brain spin just looking at it, and he isn’t new to thorough protocols. 

“Seems like it.” Alec answers, back pressed against the couch. 

“Did they brief you on where you’ll be?” Izzy asks, and Alec shakes his head. 

“Not yet.” He answers, “Won’t be with the presidential detail, that’s for damn sure.” His military experience, engineering background, and time as a uniformed division officer may have helped Alec squeak through the highly competitive selection process, but it doesn’t erase the fact that he’s young blood. Young blood is young blood, and just like the military, you move up the ranks, no matter how skilled and proficient you are.

“So the first son then?”

Alec looks at Izzy, curious. “That’s it? That’s all the family there is?”

Izzy nods, gesturing to the television screen where the camera is panning over a symphonic celebration at the democratic headquarters. It shows Asmodeus Bane embracing a young man firmly among the tight throng of people rejoicing around them. _Magnus Bane_ , it says on the news ticker at the bottom of the screen. When they part, the man looks at the camera graciously, a smile on his mouth.

Pity that smile doesn’t even reach his eyes, Alec thinks.

“Sir, can I speak with you for a moment?” 

The director of Secret Service, Luke Garroway, hovers at a respectable distance, hands pressed together in front of him. Magnus allows another small smile on his mouth, pushes aside the things that permeate his mind, and leaves the president-elect’s side.

“Sir is my father.” Magnus says, a little gleam of mischief in his eyes, “Call me Magnus.”

Magnus swears he sees Luke’s mouth quirk into a small smile before he leads him through the other side of the Roosevelt Room, past the fifteen-chaired table sprawled in the middle, and right by the pristine mantle of the fireplace. Magnus can’t help but crane his neck back, eyes wandering over the portion of glass that makes up the central ceiling. Even the warm sunlight that breaks through the room isn’t enough to lift the nagging heaviness on his shoulders. 

“Thank you for choosing to have a security detail.” Luke says as they walk, “You’re an adult, technically you can reject the offer, and I know it’s not easy to give up your freedom. But it makes everybody rest a little easier at night.”

“I should be thanking you.” Magnus answers, “The circumstances of this year’s election haven’t been the best. I’d prefer to not look over my shoulder, at least for now.” 

“Then I would like to introduce you to your security detail.” Luke motions to the group of three before them both, “This is Lydia Branwell,”

Magnus extends his hand warmly. “Nice to meet you, Lydia.”

Lydia smiles a true smile as she takes his hand. “Likewise, sir.”

“This is Jace Wayland,”

“Sir, pleasure to meet you.” Jace says firmly, almost all business except for the glint of acquaintance he allows in his eyes.

Magnus nods, shaking his hand. “Pleasure’s all mine,”

“And Alec Lightwood, who will be running point.” Luke says, “If you need anything, or if you have any questions, he’s your go-to.”

It’s embarrassing how time screeches to a maddening stop within Magnus’ world. He breathes through his nose, composure crumbling like a brick wall knocked down. Alec Lightwood is—how do you say— _fucking beautiful_.

It takes all of Magnus to not say the words aloud. 

His head of security extends a hand, and Magnus tries not to _too_ enthusiastically take the offered handshake. Alec Lightwood’s palm is warm against his, roughened at certain points of contact, and he can’t help but file away the little piece of information for himself.

“Looking forward to working with you, sir.” Alec says, respectful but authoritative.

Magnus feels like imploding. 

“Not as much as I am.” 

“ _Not as much as I am?_ ” Lydia repeats amusedly under her breath as the president’s son gets whisked away by the chief usher to meet other members of the White House staff, but only before he gives them all a courteous smile and a wave goodbye. 

“Don’t even start.” Alec mutters, adjusting his earpiece with a frown. 

There’s a swathe of silence that fills the air for a moment.

Alec glares at the ceiling. “Jace, shut the hell up.”

Jace presses his mouth into a thin line, barely concealing the smirk crawling beneath it. His shoulders lift in a small shrug.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Alec, tell me, how does this all work?

Alec blinks away the almost unconscious sweep his eyes make of the area around them, the question a soft tug back to reality. They’re both climbing the red, ornately carpeted staircase that leads to the second floor of the executive residence, Magnus looking up at the meticulously painted portraits hung on the walls. 

“Which, specifically, sir?” he asks, and the statement makes Magnus cringe visibly. Alec sees the way Magnus tries to hide it. 

“Please, don’t call me sir.” He says gently, “I’m not above any of you.”

Alec works the inside of his lower lip between his teeth. “Which specifically, Mr. Bane?”

Magnus chuckles. “I’ll take it.” He breathes out, “Just—all this. Will I always be accompanied to places? Will I have a moment of peace to myself outside my private quarters?” he pauses, dubious, an impending joke in the air. “Do I have cameras in my bedroom?”

Alec answers immediately. “Just outside your door.”

Magnus looks at him momentarily, mouth moving like he’s to say something, but elects not to. Instead he slips both hands into the pockets of his nicely tailored pants, keeping his silence as they get to the landing of the second floor, and make their way to through the hall of the west wing.

Alec doesn’t care for most part, usually keeps a regimented distance between him and the people he technically works for. He always gets asked by family members what it’s like to work in the secret service—what’s it like to be so physically close to the first family; what degree of kinship does he have with the most powerful figures in the entire country—and the answer is always vague and succinct. Never giving anything away, but alluding to a certain degree. Because the only way it ever works is by being physically close but emotionally distant to the person you need to protect; an unfortunate minefield when you’re with a person from the moment he wakes up to the moment he goes to sleep. You can’t do your job when there’s fondness involved, no matter how harmless. 

And Alec knows this, down to his very core, reminds himself of it when he sees the way the first son’s shoulders slightly sag at his impersonal, almost cold reply. It’s sits on the same shelf as the gracious but thoroughly untrue smile he sees on Magnus Bane’s mouth through the screen of his television. The realization of what his life is going to be and what it already is has unfurled around him in break-neck speed.

Alec feels sorry, almost. 

They arrive at the door of Magnus Bane’s private quarters.

“Good night, sir.”

The man smiles a small smile. “Good night, Agent Lightwood.”

They leave it at that.

The inaugural parade blares on, and from all around they are surrounded by two solid, almost unending walls of people in all sorts of merriment; cheering, clapping, waving. The president smiles up at the massive crowd that envelopes them from both sides, waving back at the enthused supporters whose votes have placed him in the White House. Along with the security detail that surrounds them, there are members of the Metropolitan Police, FBI, and other divisions from across the country that stand by the parade sidelines, watching over the moving crowd from behind the metal barriers.

Alec cranes his neck up and spots their snipers positioned discreetly from a faraway building, a small smudge of black from where they’re walking. If not for their briefing this morning, he wouldn’t have known, nor would he have seen. 

It’s a stark reminder for him that behind the pomp and pageantry of the inauguration, there’s a thousand working parts that operate at the same time, simmering beneath. Snipers at strategic places. Air force-manned helicopters circling the air like vultures. Marines patrolling the Potomac. Alec recognizes at least five secret service agents interspersed within the throng of spectators, hidden in plain sight. Him, Jace, and Lydia form a three-point barrier between the first son and whatever’s before them. Their senior counterparts, Luke, Raphael, and Catarina, likewise flank the president’s side. If anything happens, they’re the very first shield to be deployed, and the last to come down. The ungodly amount of simulations they’ve run through to account for anything and everything that may happen has prepared them for every possible scenario. 

Alec scans the area around them, until his gaze rests onto Magnus Bane. After a quick check of his person, he allows himself to really look at the first son, and again he sees a smile that is civilly polite, just enough to feign contentment, but not enough for anything more than that. Tension pulls his shoulders taut, and if one really looks close enough, his fingers tremble. Eyes flighty, perching from one spot to the other, like he’s desperate for a way out.

Alec quickly diminishes their distance. “Sir, everything okay over here?” he asks under his breath, keeping his eyes forward. 

“Can’t breathe.” Magnus mutters, subdued alarm twisting his voice. His fingers reach for his tie, nearly ready to claw it off, “Shit—”

Alec places a steady hand on the small of his back, speaking quietly, “Look at me.” He holds Magnus’ gaze firmly, “Slow down. Breathe.” Magnus is lost before everything focuses, attention narrowing into the color of Alec’s eyes and the sound of air passing through his nose. Everything in his periphery is a faded picture during this small collection of seconds. “One thing at a time.”

Magnus struggles with himself, but nods a small nod.

“You don’t owe everybody your attention.” Alec says, and he leads them forward, tries to make it look like nothing’s amiss. Magnus eyes tries to find someone to anchor onto, and he finds a boy perched on top of his father’s shoulder, waving a small flag. He holds on.

“Don’t think about anything else.” Alec’s voice is almost a murmur, and Magnus heart beats in his chest for reasons other than twisting anxiety, “I’ve got you.”

Everything settles within Magnus, frayed nerves soothing itself, the hardness along his shoulders melting on its own. His breathing deepens, air easing into his lungs languidly. His pulse still threatens to run away from him, but he accounts that to the hand that still settles on the dip of his back.

“Better?” Alec asks and when Magnus answers, his throat is dry.

“Yes.” He says, the words surrounded by an exhale, “Thank you, Agent Lightwood.”

The words seem to snap something in place, and it swiftly takes away the palm that has settled on Magnus’ back, like it’s realized where its wrongfully made its home. Magnus almost feels remorse over it. 

The distance between them returns, and when Alec speaks, Magnus hears it there too. 

“Your welcome, sir.”

“You want to man the vegetable garden.” The chief usher, a lady by the name Imogen with neatly curled hair and a disposition as no-nonsense as her crisp button up, repeats the words slowly. She regards the first son warily, as if to parse through whatever joke he’s trying to pull.

But Magnus only nods, serious. 

Imogen doesn’t seem convinced. “The kitchen vegetable garden started by Michelle Obama. A program usually reserved for first ladies.” She says, a tinge of confusion present in her voice, “This is what you want your first White House initiative to be.”

“As you may know, there isn’t a first lady in this presidential family.” Magnus answers, the edge in his voice barely there but unmistakable, “I’m the next best thing. So, I’d like to take over, please.”

“Magnus, doesn’t it seem—” Imogen pauses, visibly choosing her next words wisely, “Unusual? For you to take over this role?”

Magnus looks at her, confused. “Am I supposed to feel emasculated by choosing to garden?”

As they delve further into conversation, Alec watches from the sidelines, brow slightly raised at the little face off he’s witnessing. There’s no heat behind it whatsoever, just a steady stream of back and forths that is usual of their relationship. Imogen is the first person Magnus Bane has ever met within the walls of the White House. There’s a certain comfortable banter that exists between them both, and Alec swears to god the only time he’s ever seen Imogen smile is in conversation with the first son.

Imogen sighs, “You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you do,” Magnus says gently, “And I understand you don’t mean any harm. But I’d like you to trust me and let me pursue this.”

It takes another genuine _please_ from Magnus, and it topples Imogen’s resolve right over. Two days after their conversation, Alec is standing under the shade of a tree, watching the first son chat with the gardeners employed by the White House from the National Park Services. There’s an airiness to him that Alec hasn’t seen in the past, and the gardeners chuckle at something he says, enamoured by his unexpected modesty and easy charm. 

The same person is trudging towards his direction, the usual suit and tie replaced by casual pants and a shirt stretched across his chest. Alec feels his eyes wander a second too long and quickly looks away.

“Here.” Magnus says, handing him a trowel, “If you’re going to be hovering anyway, best put you to work.”

Alec blurts out, “Sir, I don’t know how to garden.”

“You don’t?” Magnus asks, brow rising slightly.

“My six-month agent training didn’t include agriculture.” Alec unwittingly retorts before he realizes how he had sounded, “Sir.”

He swears he sees Magnus pin a snicker to the roof of his mouth, thoroughly amused. 

“Don’t worry, Agent Lightwood.” He says, already walking away, “I’ll teach you.”

When Alec returns to the office after escorting the first son to the president’s dining room, he has soil under his fingernails and grass stains on knees. 

“Do we even want to know?” Lydia asks, and Alec rolls his eyes.

“No.” He mumbles, heading to the sink by the far left of the room.

Jace gets up from his seat, shrugging on his suit jacket, and Alec could already hear the slyness in his voice even before he opens his mouth. 

“So someone has finally brought the great Alec Lightwood to his knees.”

Alec physically restrains himself from flinging the bar of soap towards Jace’s direction.

(Alec apprehensively stands above a plot of soil, jacket already shrugged off and placed neatly on one of the metal benches that decorate the garden. The trowel he’s been handed sits at the little box by his feet, complete with gardening gloves, pruning shears, and other equipment he doesn’t have the expertise to name. His fingers work at the buttons of his sleeve cuffs.

He feels a bit anxious, to be honest. He’s used to being good at what he does, and _this_ isn’t what he does. As simple a task this is, he thinks about the different ways he’d be making a fool of himself. He could see Magnus abandoning his own plot to walk towards Alec’s, palms brushing against casual jeans. 

Alec fumbles at a button, discorded.

“Here.” Magnus says, motioning for Alec to turn to him. 

Alec carefully obliges, not quite sure what to expect, but Magnus gesticulates again— _give me_. Alec catches on and slowly presents a sleeve. Magnus takes one unbuttoned cuff and rolls it meticulously up Alec’s arm, fingers working dextrously against the fabric until its neatly settled just above his elbow. 

“The other.” Magnus murmurs and does the same, tucking fabric into fabric, Alec can’t help but watch the motions, a slight haze in his eyes. 

When Magnus finishes, Alec looks up, lips pressed together.

His voice finds its way out of his mouth. “Thank you, sir.”

The pause that fills their shared space is so quick it almost feels like it didn’t happen. 

Magnus nods, smiling slightly. “You’re welcome, agent.”)

Lydia looks at him one day and says, “It’s not illegal to call him by his first name, you know.”

Alec doesn’t even look up from his phone at the words. With a perpetual frown in his face, he keeps his eyes on the secure message thread he shares with Director Garroway. His thumbs fly over the screen in quick succession as he answers, “I’m aware.”

“So, you’re being purposefully distant.” Lydia says, gaze flickering momentarily through the car window before looking back at him.

Alec finally pockets his phone, irate. “Back off. It doesn’t concern anybody how I address my protectees.”

“Drop the tone.” Lydia says in perfect composure but a fair warning in her eyes, “I barely let you talk to me that way as my friend, and in no way am I taking this shit from you as my team leader.”

Alec passes a hand over his face. “Sorry.” 

Lydia shrugs. “Already forgotten.”

The Capitol Building looms before them, the ornate dome erupting from the center of a regal stretch of sandstone columns. The wide expanse of concrete space precedes the architectural wonder of a building, and Alec almost forgets their conversation at the sight of it. 

Alec is about to open the door when Lydia finally says her piece.

“You’re taking care of a person, not an object.” She says softly, “And I understand professional boundaries, I really do.” She says, “But he’s got to know that he’s not alone.”

Alec squats in front of his plot of soil, elbows propped against his knees. He peers at the surface, scanning carefully for any sign of growth. 

“It’s only been fifteen days,” Magnus calls from his side of the vegetable garden, “It usually takes about three weeks for carrots to germinate.”

Alec looks up, brow creased. “I don’t think I have the patience for this.”

“Then this is exactly what you need to do.” Magnus says, spraying the rows of bell peppers with water from the garden hose. He tugs at the length of it that trails behind, giving him more slack as he moves towards the fully-fledged cabbages just about ready for harvest. “Nothing teaches patience better than watching dirt.”

Alec pushes himself upright, dusting his palms against the sides of his pants. He carefully makes his way towards Magnus’ direction, hands in his pockets, and he feels the seconds stretch into minutes and then into hours, like the equal parts anticipation and dread of what he’s about to do has taken both ends of the moment and pulled as hard as it can in opposite directions. He finds the echoes of Lydia’s voice in his mind— _you’re taking care of a person, not an object_ —and it’s the words that push him forward, closer and closer towards Magnus’ direction. He holds a question in his mind, and it’s being anchored there by sheer indecisiveness. He breathes out and decides to cross the threshold.

“Everything going okay, sir?” he asks, gawkily if he does say so himself, and he curses himself silently.

Magnus stops, looks up briefly, unfazed. “Of course, Agent Lightwood. I feel safe.”

It’s almost a whiplash of karma that Magnus thinks he’s asking about his physical security after all the painful humming and hawing Alec has elbowed his way through. He deserves it, he thinks; he hasn’t exactly given Magnus the opportunity to think he’s interested in his emotional wellbeing, being the ever so stoic wall that he is.

“I mean,” Alec says again, “is everything _going okay_.”

Magnus looks at Alec with confusion in his eyes, until realization falls from the sky and touches his forehead like a raindrop. It changes the expression on his face as it trickles down, brows raised, eyes slightly wide, jaw growing slack. _Oh. He means how are you_. 

“Sir, the hose,” Alec says in alarm, and Magnus blinks— _what_ —until he realizes that he still has the garden hose in his hands and that he’s flooded the cabbage heads to a point of no return.

“Shit—” Magnus hisses, hurriedly pointing the hose elsewhere and turning it off. He stares at the cabbage as it swims in its own pool.

He looks up at Alec, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry at the ridiculousness of it all. The look of absolute, held-back laughter in his head of security’s face makes him chose the earlier. He throws his head back, eyes pinched, a hand to the heart as the most joyous laugh he’s ever released since he’s moved into the White House spills out of his mouth. 

Alec laughs for the first time since Magnus has met him, and it’s possibly the most beautiful Magnus has ever seen him look; lines at the corners of his eyes, lips sunny and warm. 

“To answer your question,” Magnus breathes, laugh settling into a chuckle, “Drowned cabbage aside, yes, everything’s going okay.”

Alec wipes tears from the corner of his eyes, grinning softly. “Good.”

After working in for the White House four a good few years now and being closely acquainted with every inch of its sprawling property, Alec tends to forget how the 80-acre grounds of nothing but beautifully kept garden could leave somebody utterly breathless. 

Magnus steps off the short length of stairs and sinks both feet onto verdant grass. He stands under the early morning sun, and from where Alec is watching, a respectable distance from behind, all he could see him do is breathe. Strong shoulders lift up and down, the entirety of him drenched in warm sunlight. Before them, a wide expanse of greenery, the soft murmurs of a fountain from a distance, and the Washington monument pointing to the sky.

“You know this place inside out.” Magnus says even before he turns to look at Alec, a friendly smile on his lips, “What’s your favorite spot?” 

The answer comes naturally to Alec. He makes his way down the few steps that leads onto the grass of the south lawn. He stands next to Magnus momentarily, a small smile on his lips. “Follow me.”

They walk towards the south-west area of the lawn, passing by both the tennis and basketball court until they’re met by tall hedges of hollies wrapping around an area Magnus couldn’t quite see quite yet. They round the corner and find the entrance to a small, quiet garden, secluded to prying eyes by the thick but nicely pruned hedges that encircles it. A small duck pond sits at the center, a petite, cherub fountain pouring water onto the surface. Propped around it are white, vintage garden chairs. Pots of tulips follow the curve formed by the hedges around them, painting the garden in shades of red, white, and yellow. String lights hang above their heads, criss-crossing like intricate patchwork, and Magnus could only imagine how it would look like at night.

Alec hangs back as Magnus walks in, and both of them are somewhat lost in the different images before their eyes. 

“These are all the presidential grand children.” Magnus says in wonder, looking down onto the handprints embedded onto the cement of the paved pathway—small hands with names etched underneath, familial memories of those who has preceded him and his father. 

It’s easy to forget that the White House has been home to families other than his.

“This is the children’s garden.” Alec says, as Magnus sits on one of the garden chairs, “Lady Bird Johnson built it as a parting gift to the White House. First ladies usually do something like that when the President’s term is about to end.”

Magnus leans forward, elbows propped onto his knees, fingers splayed against each other like interspersed threads. “I’m my father’s only family.” He murmurs, eyes following the soft splash of water from the fountain, “So what parting gift should I give?”

Alec sits on the garden chair next to him. “It’s only been months since your father took office.” He says, “You have a lot of time to think.” 

“I need to do something now.” Magnus says tensely, “I can’t be in a place as powerful as this and just stand on a pedestal I’ve only chanced upon.” He looks at Alec, “I want to deserve it.”

Alec gives him a small smile, nodding slightly. “Good. What do you want to do?”

Magnus presses his lips together. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

Alec chuckles, leaning back onto his chair. “What I think doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.” Magnus says so carelessly, like it’s not a thought but a gut feeling, and he says the next words the same way too. “It matters to me.”

It softens something in Alec’s chest. He works the inside of his lip between his teeth, thoughts tumbling endlessly in his mind. He abandons all the others and pulls one to the forefront.

“I know somebody who volunteers accounting services to non-profit organizations.” He says, “I can give you her contact information.”

Magnus smiles. “I’d love that. Thank you, Alec.”

Alec nods, eyes skimming stubbornly over kind eyes and gently intertwined fingers. “Of course.”

They leave it at that.

Sometimes Alec entertains the thought of not leaving it at that. 

Thoughts don’t cross professional boundaries, so he allows flitting apparitions of sunlit smiles on a perfect mouth. Spectres of strong shoulders and deft hands combing through the earth, sun beating down the plane of a back that seems to carry the weight of the world. 

One day, Magnus unwittingly places a hand on him, right between the convex curves of his shoulder blades, and the lingering touch stays with Alec for days to come. One day, he dreams of Magnus, so vividly that he almost feels like he could taste the salt of his skin, and thoughts teeter dangerously into action. He stands under the spray of a cold shower, hands tensely scrubbing over his face.

“Alec.” 

He blinks and finds reality again. He reprimands himself silently and focuses at the task at hand. The drive to Young Center is a route he himself checked multiple times, but he cannot allow himself to be lost in thought.

Magnus peers at him gently, genuinely concerned, and it coils guilt deep into his gut. “Are you okay?”

He nods, throat dry. “I’m fine.”

Alec decides it’s best to leave it at that.

For the past few months, they’ve watched the first son—Lydia calls him Magnus exclusively now, and Jace uses it more and more as time passes by—slowly get accustomed with the life that is entailed by his father’s career choice. The daily meetings with the chief usher to brief him of the day’s events, the almost endless five-minute interviews only aiming for soundbites but never authentic conversations, the constant presence of everything and everyone wanting a moment of his time. His security detail knowing his every move.

It chips away at the man, and all of them could see it in the moments that are the most still—between briefings where he tends to sit in the family dining room, the calm before the storm of welcoming the more esteemed visitors to the White House, the breathing space allowed of him after one interview finishes and before another one starts.

Inside the White House, at the very least, it’s somehow better. The radius magnifies from a few feet to a good ten meters, Alec, Lydia, and Jace allowing him as much privacy as possible, but still starkly present. Still anticipating the worse even within the walls that’s supposed to keep Magnus Bane safe. 

On a Tuesday of the fourth week, Jace calls Alec’s office phone, concerned. 

_He’s refused to meet with the chief usher and even his personal assistant. He barely opened his door for me._

Alec frowns, abandoning his work on the computer. “Does he sound okay?”

There’s a pause on the other side of the line, like a thought is being mulled over. _Honestly? No._ Another beat of silence, and then, _you need to talk to him._

Alec works his lower lip between his teeth.

When he arrives at the same door he’s escorted Magnus Bane to countless times before, his hand hovers the surface, wariness curling around his wrist and holding it in place. He stubbornly pushes his self-importance away and finally knocks.

“Sir, it’s Alec.”

When the door finally opens, all he sees are tired eyes from the little slither of a space afforded to him. 

The man behind the door opens his mouth to speak, words scratching roughly against his throat. “I’m sorry, Alec, I’m going to have to inconvenience you today.” He moves to close his door once again, but Alec plants a hand onto its surface, holding it open just enough to let his words slip through.

“Magnus.” Alec says, surprisingly firm, as if not saying it as strongly as he can will result to the name staying behind his teeth forever.

And then softly now, letting the question weigh heavily on his tongue. “What’s wrong?”

Silence entrenches itself at the space around them and Alec steels himself the same way he does for any kind of physical blow, the soldier in him seizing his muscles to soften the pain of being disregarded. But it doesn’t come. If anything, the sound of his name— _his actual name_ , not sir, not Mr. Bane—faltering out of Alec’s lips softens Magnus’ eyes where it’s the most tired.

The door swings open and Alec gingerly steps in, not quite sure whether to venture further or stay rooted in his spot. Magnus motions to the ornately-patterned couch, and Alec obligingly walks forward, eyes unconsciously tracing the details that has changed since the last time he’s been to this room, when it was resided by a different person. Paintings he’s never seen before hang on specific spots on the wall, some portraits, some abstract. A dizzying wall of books fill the usually empty shelf, accentuated by small personal trinkets Alec can’t make out of from where he stands. Silk sheets are thrown over the mattress of the four-poster bed by the opposite wall.

He walks by the coffee table where printed photos are strewn on the surface, all of the same woman, some in muted color, some sepia-toned. Alec settles on the couch and so does Magnus, taking the seat opposite to him. 

For somebody who’s occupation involves a lot of quiet observation and standing by, Alec feels almost drowned by the few moments of wordlessness between the two of them. This feels markedly different. A threshold has been crossed today, and he can still feel the way his mouth wrapped itself around Magnus’ name like something foreign and familiar at the same time. 

“Who is she?” Alec asks gently, and even he is surprised by the softness of the words. 

Magnus picks a few photos from the table. “My mother.”

Alec sees the similarities, mostly the eyes, and the fine line that makes the bridge of his nose. “She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Magnus murmurs, “She passed away today, five years ago.”

Heaviness grips Alec’s shoulders and weighs it down, and all of today suddenly makes sense. A father en route to France for a presidential visit and no other family or friend to fall back on. A one hundred and thirty room-house that isn’t really any semblance of home. The ringing isolation in a room full of people. 

Magnus is in mourning, all alone.

“I’m here.” Alec says, and he means it down to his very core, “More than I’ve ever been the before, which isn’t saying a lot, I know. But now, I’m here.” 

Magnus looks at the pictures still, smiling softly, and when he speaks, the words are genuine. “Thank you, but today I just need silence.”

“Then I’ll give you your space.” Alec says, about to get up, but Magnus holds a hand out— _wait_. 

“Stay,” Magnus says under his breath, “Just a bit.”

Alec settles back down onto his seat. He sees the way solitude has writhed its way into Magnus’ chest and made it its home, and he soon realizes: silence doesn’t equal solitude. He now understands what Magnus asks of him. His simple presence, not as his protector, not as his security detail, but as an acquaintance. Maybe even a friend.

He settles into his seat, ready for the long run. 

“For as long as you need.”

Alec looks up from the book he’s picked out from Magnus’ shelf with his permission, fingers just about ready to flip to the next page. He closes it with a soft snap, uncrosses his legs, and settles it on the coffee table before him. 

He makes good of his time and arranges the photos on the table, stacking them carefully into a neat pile before getting up onto his feet. He quietly pads towards the four-poster bed by the wall, peels off a blanket, and stuffs it into the cradle of his arms. 

He gently drapes it over Magnus’ sleeping form on the couch, pulling it over his shoulders where it lays just under his chin. The man barely stirs. He makes his way to the door, slips through, and closes it as quietly as he can.

He takes out his phone and calls Imogen.

“I’d like for you to cancel Magnus’ appointments for today.” He says when she answers the call, “He’s not feeling well.”

_Do I need to be concerned?_

“No,” Alec answers, “I’ll handle it.”

Alec walks through the corridor and down the carpeted staircase he and Magnus first shared a conversation with, cold and distant, and wonders from now on what he should expect now that he’s definitely opened something up. The person that he is allows wariness to curl its tendrils into his chest, but alongside it is anticipation, blooming softly. He decides to file it away for later and heads back to his living quarters for a bit of lunch.

In silent moments though, he is visited by visions of tired eyes and fingers gently splayed across sepia-toned photos. And then gently lifting shoulders, hands working on the cuff of his sleeve, and a handshake shared within the walls of the Roosevelt Room.

Alec pushes them all away.

Alec raps at his door hurriedly, and once he hears an echo of a _come in_ he just about bursts through the door like a rampaging bull.

“Magnus, you’re needed at the map room.”

Magnus looks up from his desk, and there’s an undecipherable look on his face. “Did you just call me by my name?”

“What do you mean?” Alec frowns as he heaves his breaths after the sprint he makes to Magnus’ living quarters, “This isn’t the first time.”

“Sure, but I thought that was a one off.” Magnus answers, eyes bright, “You just called me by my name.” he says again, wondrous, and it pierces through Alec’s grumpiness and settles deeply into his chest. 

Alec pushes his impatience forward, because right now he’s annoyed and soft words or not, he’s going to be annoyed. “Really not the right time for this.”

Magnus looks at him like he’s deluded, a finger in the air. “No, no, I had to suffer through five hundred different forms of sirs and Mr. Banes for the past few months.” He says in false indignation, “I will have my time.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Alec says, mildly irate.

Magnus snickers like he’s heard the funniest joke. “Oh, _darling_ , you don’t get to decide that.”

Something passes through Alec’s face so quickly that Magnus fails to fully process it. Instead he gesticulates pleadingly for the discussion to be tabled for the future.

“Magnus, _come on_.” He almost pleads, and Magnus can’t help but file the sound away for himself.

Magnus finally moves, another true laugh tumbling out of his mouth. “Okay, I’m coming.” 

They speed-walk like idiots to where the Italian dignitaries are waiting, and by the time they get to the Map Room, Alec is spiralling huffily at their lateness and Magnus is trying to reign in the laughter that threatens to fight its way through his teeth. Suffice to say the Italians have thought him a crazy person.

“Everything okay?” Asmodeus asks under his breath when they finally get a moment of privacy.

“Yes,” Magnus says, and he surprises himself with how true the answer feels.

Today, his smile feels like it belongs on his lips. “Everything’s great.”

“Wait.” Alec says, one hand flipping his cards over, the other fishing for his phone.

“There’s no time out in poker, idiot.” Izzy jeers, “Either bet or fold the fuck out of the way!”

Alec scowls at his sister. “Shut up, I’m getting a call.”

Lydia’s stares at a cackling Izzy, mildly surprised. “Is she always like this with poker?” 

Jace shakes his head. “Do you mean satanic? Yes.”

Alec winces at the noise and gives his sister another pointed glare before getting up from his seat, his feet taking him to the corner of his living room. He swipes at the screen. “Hello? Is there something wrong?” 

A confused voice filters through his phone. _Huh? No, why would there be something wrong?_

“You’re calling me on my day off.” Alec says under his breath, watching warily from his periphery as Izzy, Jace, and Lydia delve into their own conversation. “Isn’t Bhandari supposed to be with you?”

There’s a hum in the words he hears next. _I’ve decided to ditch him_.

Alec stifles a frustrated groan. “Magnus, you know you can’t do that.”

An indignant huff blows against the speaker, and Alec could almost feel the disdain rolling off him in waves. You failed to tell me that your friend is a dick and a half. 

Alec squints an eye, irate at the thought. “He’s not my friend.”

_Well, then there’s absolutely no reason for you to not tell me he’s a dick and a half._

Alec almost laughs, because can’t and won’t say that Raj is otherwise. The guy is a grade A asshole who thinks he’s a cut above the rest during secret service training. The most satisfying moment of his career thus far is being assigned as the first son’s head of security over him, and seeing the incensed look on his face is a lovely bonus.

Alec is already halfway towards his room, ready to pocket his wallet and keys. “Stay where you are, I’ll come pick you up.”

 _No need, Dave’s already driving me back,_ there’s a pause before Alec hears words from the other line again, _just wanted to see how you’re doing._

Alec’s feet unconsciously take him into the privacy of his bedroom, shoulder bumping softly against a bare wall where it settles there. His free hand tucks itself into the crook of his elbow. “I’m okay.”

_One-week vacation starting off nicely so far?_

“You’re not making it easy to stay away.” Alec half says, half murmurs, and just as the words skitter hurriedly out of his mouth, he realizes how it sounds like. Alarm rises from his chest like a tidal wave bearing onto the shore, and his gut crumples in embarrassment.

Magnus sounds amused. _Oh?_

“I mean, you’re causing all kinds of trouble over there.” Alec says through gritted teeth and eyes pinched into a chagrined cringe. He gives the wall a small headbutt of mortification. “At this rate I’m going to have to come back to work early.”

Magnus chuckles from the other line. _I know what you meant, don’t fret._

Alec feels relief loosen the grip on his chest, but a stubborn feeling remains. Does Magnus really know what he means though? Does Alec himself know what he means? _Jesus._

 _I’m sorry for interrupting your well-deserved break from my incessant, useless commentary,_ Magnus laughs, _Rest well, Alec. I’ll see you soon._

Alec gulps down the thickness in his throat. “Thanks. Also,”

He feels a grain of a sentiment form behind his teeth, incomplete but very strongly there, and he clamps his mouth shut, not wanting to further embarrass himself again. He needs to think before he says anything, so he settles for something he’s more sure of.

“You don’t say useless things.” Alec says softly, eyes stubbornly focused on the grain of his wooden flooring, “And I like listening to what you have to say. I’ll see you, Magnus.”

He ends the call with surprisingly shaky fingers, breathing deeply. 

Alec stares at the name at the screen, now just a phone number in his contacts, and something tumbles within his chest like a half-formed feeling. He pockets the device and heads back to the table. He winds his shoulders back, as if shaking off the tension in his muscles would relieve the one beneath his ribs.

“What was that about?” Jace asks, and Alec decides to keep it to himself.

He shrugs. “Something about a census.”

“Are we gonna play or are we gonna play?” Izzy asks impatiently, tapping the table.

Alec rolls his eyes fondly. “Make your move, Lightwood.”

_27 Nov 2019 09:21  
Good morning, since you like listening to me talk  
I will now exercise my first amendment right of free speech to text you_

_**27 Nov 2019 09:27  
I already regret what I’ve said** _

_27 Nov 2019 08:29  
:( _

_**27 Nov 2019 09:32  
I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that  
I didn’t mean to be rude** _

_27 Nov 2019 09:36  
I’m joking, Alec :) _

_**27 Nov 2019 09:45  
Well then I’d like to exercise my eighth amendment right to remain silent  
Because I don’t want my dumb butt statements used against me** _

_27 Nov 2019 09:48  
Did you just say dumb butt? _

_**27 Nov 2019 09:52  
Unsend** _

“You said type unsend!” Alec shouts, flustered, and Jace looks at him, indignant.

“I said _tap_ unsend!” Jace bellows from the living room.

Alec lets out a stream of expletives and locks himself in his room, not before hearing Jace’s curious yell through the crack of his door.

“Who are you talking to anyways?!”

_28 Nov 2019 09:56  
Good morning apparently the White House is haunted  
Did you know this? _

_**28 Nov 2019 10:01  
Morning  
I’ve heard rumors** _

_28 Nov 2019 10:06  
I refuse to be haunted by Abraham Lincoln’s ghost_

_**28 Nov 2019 10:11  
You’re not that special to be haunted by THE president Lincoln** _

_28 Nov 2019 10:14  
I’m offended_

_**28 Nov 2019 10:16  
Ok enjoy the feeling** _

_28 Nov 2019 10:19  
My god that was funny  
You and your dumb butt are learning :) _

_29 Nov 2019 09:01  
Good morning what is Alec short for? _

_**29 Nov 2019 09:03  
Morning  
Alexander** _

_29 Nov 2019 09:05  
It’s beautiful/  
Why don’t you use it more? _

_**29 Nov 2019 09:08  
It’s a mouthful  
Say Alexander ten times and see if you don’t want to throw yourself onto a wall** _

_29 Nov 2019 09:10  
I wouldn’t tire of it.  
Can I call you by that? _

_**29 Nov 2019 09:13  
Of course** _

_29 Nov 2019 09:15  
Thank you  
I’m off to a meeting with Imogen  
Hope your day goes well, Alexander_

_**29 Nov 2019 09:18  
You too, Magnus** _

Alec blinks up at his ceiling, listening as his heart thrashes within his chest.

His name tumbling off Magnus’ fingers and into his phone has already knocked the breath out of his lungs.

He wonders what it would feel like hearing Magnus say it.

 _Shit_.

Alec decides to roll out of bed before he gets any ideas.

_30 Nov 2019 08:32  
Good morning, how do you make children think you’re cool? _

_**30 Nov 2019 08:35  
Morning, you don’t  
You take your shot and hope for the best  
Take it from me, Max doesn’t give me a shred of respect  
Is today the day?** _

_30 Nov 2019 08:38  
Yes  
I’m quite nervous_

_**30 Nov 2019 08:41  
It’s okay to be.  
It means you care.** _

_30 Nov 2019 08:46  
I just want to see them.  
And I want them to know if I was able to climb out of the margins, they can too.  
And that I’ll work to help them scale their own walls for as long as they let me. _

_**30 Nov 2019 08:53  
Then that’s exactly what you tell them.  
You’ll find your own way of saying it in words they’ll understand.  
You always do.** _

_30 Nov 2019 08:56  
Okay.  
This is definitely more serious than the vegetable garden, isn’t it? _

_**30 Nov 2019 08:59  
I know my opinion doesn’t hold much weight,  
But I believe in the work you want to do** _

_**30 Nov 2019 09:31  
And more than anything I believe in you.** _

_30 Nov 2019 09:36  
Thank you, Alexander. _

  


_30 Nov 2019 10:32  
Alexander  
I think the world of your opinion._

_30 Nov 2019 10:33  
I thought you should know. _

It’s astounding what a few seconds can do.

In Alec’s line of work, it affords him the difference between saving a life or hauling a body off the asphalt. In Magnus’ case, a few beats of silence in front of a journalist out for blood means the headlines will call him morose and suffering. But nothing demonstrates the power of a second than a hand on the back, or a touch on the arm, that has settled there a moment too long. 

It’s meaningless enough, if Magnus tries not to think about. But nothing stays with him more potently than the spots where Alec’s fingers have pressed on his person—a hand on the shoulder to lead him past a wildly moving crowd on his way to We Day. A brush of the fingers against his when Alec takes the briefcase he carries to meetings with the Young Center’s board of directors. The one that persists the most is the first one; on the small of his back, while he struggles through his panic during the inaugural parade six months ago. It still lays there on his skin when he remembers it, as if the nerves threaded through his tissue has desperately held on and refused to forget. And it’s meaningless enough, if Magnus really tries not to think about it. 

But all it takes is a second. A second too long and Magnus is left to ruminate achingly at the end of everyday. What does it mean, what does Alec want, what does he himself want— _jesus christ, Alec, do you **like me?**_

Magnus wants to know. The need in his chest is as voracious as Alec is unreadable, which is incredibly. But unlike Alec, Magnus is willing to take more of a risk. 

It’s on one of their many drives back from Young Center that Alec hears Magnus murmur, _can I borrow a shoulder_ , and without waiting for an answer, lays his head onto the bulk of his arm. Eyes closed momentarily, at rest. Alec is no fool; he knows the chips he’s been throwing across the table with every risky split-second he selfishly allows his hands to linger. And as expected, Magnus plays only with high stakes, and raises his call three-folds. Breathing becomes a conscious process, and Alec is aware of every rise and fall of his own lungs. The weight of Magnus’ head against his arm is warm and very much so welcomed by every synapse of his body.

The poisonous nag slithers into the back of his mind— _you know this can’t be_ —but Alec takes in the blacked-out windows, the raised privacy screen, and the quietness of having no one but both of them in the car.

 _It’s fifteen minutes_ , he tells himself; a fifteen-minute drive their small-scale motorcade affords them. This moving point in the universe is the only safe space for things to be inconsequential. Not in Young Center, and not in the White House. 

Just here.

Magnus feels Alec uncomfortably shift, and almost he is filled with embarrassment, until his head is cradled instead by the crook of Alec’s neck instead of his arm. 

_Fifteen minutes_ , they both think. 

_It’s fifteen minutes._

Washington is as still as it can ever be.

Alec slows into a jog, air passing in huffs through parted lips as his chest heaves breaths in and out. He tucks his face into the collar of his shirt, wiping the perspiration that trickles down his brow. He looks around and finds the sun peeking its first rays past the horizon, breaking a layer of clouds apart. The water laps at the concrete edges of the Tidal Basin, and with that view to his left and the towering edifice of the Jefferson memorial on his right, the morning couldn’t get any better. 

His phone vibrates against where it’s strapped against his arm, and on his smart watch a familiar name flashes on the screen, as if the universe has taken his thought as a challenge to its prowess. He walks towards the stairs leading up the Jefferson memorial and settles himself down onto a step.

Alec smiles.

_29 Nov 2019 07:16  
Good morning, apparently baby octopi sometimes ride on the backs of baby jellyfish? _

_**29 Nov 2019 07:18  
You’re lying** _

_29 Nov 2019 07:20  
Don’t tell me I’ve never done anything for you_

_**29 Nov 2019 07:22  
Wow  
Thank you  
I’ll think of this when I feel like shit** _

_29 Nov 2019 07:24  
Now it’s your turn to send something amazing_

_**29 Nov 2019 07:26  
Here you go** _

_**Something amazing** _

_29 Nov 2019 07:27  
The camera’s pointing the wrong way_

The only thing stopping Alec from crumpling into himself is pure pride. He congratulates himself for his foresight of sitting down before starting this conversation, because he just felt his knees go weak like he’s lost his damn kneecaps.

 _Fuck_ , he admits, _he’s good._

The only thing that is preventing him from fully splitting into a wide grin is the nag of duty and responsibility at the back of his mind, corralling the surprisingly potent contentment in his chest by reminding him who he is and who Magnus is outside these conversations. He knows himself and knows the thing beating beneath his ribs—soon enough it would be so far ahead of reason there would be no catching up.

Alec passes a hand over his eyes, mulling his choices deeply. Dammit. He already feels disappointed in himself.

He types in his response and holds in his mind the one darling he’s never been able to forget.

_**29 Nov 2019 07:31  
Good one  
I gotta go  
I’ll text you later** _

_29 Nov 2019 07:38  
Of course_

Alec adjusts his ear piece as he walks through the hall of the west wing, wincing at the way it embeds into his ear. No matter how soft they’ve made the silicone piece to be, it has always been oddly molded against his ear canal. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the sensation. 

The one week away from work has definitely been more eventful than what he expected it to be. He has assumed that he is going to have to catch up on laundry, maybe eat out a handful of times, but being grossly engaged in a continuous conversation with Magnus at most hours of each day has not been on his very short list. 

And he truly, wholly enjoyed it, which is the hidden mine in the field. Magnus is smart, well-spoken, unwittingly charming. Magnus has a way of looking at you, speaking to you, and smiling at you that blurs everything in the periphery. He is cheeky, endearingly. Coy, enticingly. It’s a near tantalizing brew of things that has warmed Alec’s chest like a shot of whiskey. He will not lie to himself and say that what they have is nothing more than acquaintance or friendship. He feels it push and pull in his gut like an undertow simmering beneath an otherwise calm ocean, waiting to knock him off balance and take him away. 

But like a fail-safe kicking in, reason comes. 

And all it needed to do is remind him of the throne that Magnus sits on and the pedestal that lays beneath his feet. 

Since Alec’s rough reply of _I gotta go_ , Magnus hasn’t texted his usual good morning, and he has refrained himself from initiating conversation. It has been disappointingly, painfully difficult, and Alec mourns how far gone he is without even knowing it.

Before he can turn the corner to reach Magnus’ living quarters, Lydia’s voice crackles into his earpiece. 

_Accompanying Greenskeeper to the south lawn._

Alec’s stops in his tracks and speaks into his ear piece, brow creased in confusion. “I’m on walk duty.”

_That’s what I thought? But he called me specifically._

Realization isn’t a raindrop from the sky today, but a boulder in Alec’s stomach. Of course. Alec should have expected this, and he has no right to feel the way he feels; like he’s lost something he might not ever be able to get back. 

_Do you want to take over?_

“No,” Alec immediately answers, disallowing anymore new thoughts to form in his mind, “I’ll be in the office. Jace is rechecking the route to Young Center so be ready with Greenskeeper by thirteen hundred. Update me.”

Alec pushes down the loss he feels and walks on.

“I feel awful that I can’t help with the harvest today.” Magnus says, dejection thick in his voice, and one of the gardeners he has been working with the past months waves his hand nonchalantly.

“You’ve done a lot already.” He says, “You leave the hard work for us, Magnus.”

“Alfie, the hard work is where you need the most hands.” Magnus chortles, watching as the rest of the skilled workers unearths bright red bulbs of radishes from the soil, “You need to put me to work like the rest of your team.”

Alfie laughs heartily, hands on his belly. “We already know you’re more than capable of hard work and we appreciate it.” He leans in slightly, pushing Lydia out of the bubble of conversation momentarily, “Some of us more than others.” He grins, looking around, “Where is that grumpy fellow anyways? The one always following you around?”

Magnus shakes his head, chuckling, fingers scratching at his brow out of habit. “.. Busy. And he’s supposed to follow me around, he’s my security detail.”

“Even with his eyes? All the time?” Alfie places a hand on his shoulder, patting a couple of times, and when he speaks there’s a hum in his voice. “Didn’t know staring was a part of the job—wait, wait, not that one! The other one!” Alfie stalks off, waving a hurried goodbye to Magnus, before making a beeline for one of the plots.

Lydia steps closer, settling on the spot by his left. “Why can’t they harvest that one?” she asks, “Looks like its grown enough.”

“Alexander worked on that plot and he’s been wanting to harvest it himself.” Magnus says, ducking out of the sun and into the shade of the awning, “So I told them to leave it for next week after we come back from New York.”

He glances at his watch for the time and looks at Lydia, who’s standing next to him with an odd look on her face. “What’s wrong? Are we late for Young Center? You said one o’clock, right?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.” Lydia says, straightening herself, “I just haven’t heard anybody call Alec Alexander for a long time.”

“Am I being too familiar?” Magnus asks, slightly worried, “I asked him and he said it’s okay.”

Lydia’s brow rises even more. “You asked and he said okay?”

Magnus unconsciously plays with the hem of his suit jacket. “ _Of course_ , to be exact.”

Lydia presses her lips together. “Okay.”

The thought stays with Magnus for a long time. 

Magnus and Jace sit in the interior of their armoured car, waiting patiently as the team do their last-minute security protocols on the chartered plane that is to take them all to New York. 

It’s been a few months since Magnus has phoned Maia Roberts of the Young Center for Immigrant Children’s Rights. He’s been in constant communication with their Washington office since taking on the position as one of the organization’s ambassadors (she thinks it unnecessary, but he insists on applying like any other volunteer), and the role has a steep learning curve that he is still climbing. The first hurdle has been accepting the idea that the help he’ll be able to give requires him to stay on the pedestal he stands on. Maia has been clear that he is the most helpful not at the thick of the action, but elevated over it, a clear voice of reason and appeal to bolster the cause. A child advocate on a more global scale. Magnus agrees, only if he gets to see the children at the borders. Maia spares no time in setting up visitation days. 

Magnus talks to whoever who would listen—social media, media outlets, magazines, schools, universities, and the politicians, local and foreign, who his father hosts every so often within the White House. He wrings out all he can out of the political science degree he had been cajoled by his father into taking, tedious international law and civil liberties courses bent into something with more heart. For all the talking he’s done, he doesn’t know who exactly is truly listening out there or if anybody at all is—until UNICEF calls, asking to talk about the Young Center and the work they do at a global summit they hold annually.

Magnus sees Jace’s facial expression change minutely, usually a sign that somebody is speaking to him through his ear piece. Like a theory proven right, Jace nods at Magnus’ direction and opens the door, stepping out of the armoured car first as per protocol. 

“All clear, Magnus.” Jace says, and with that Magnus follows suit.

“Thank you.” He says, and they both make the short walk through the runway

Alec emerges from the plane entrance and descends down the airstair, walking towards their direction. Magnus sees Jace fall back as Alec draws closer, like the summit of a long, arduous hike. Everything falls away in his mind as it selfishly takes in the sun-lit visage of the person he’s equal parts dying to see and evading at every turn. Something jolts uncomfortably in his stomach, and he doesn’t quite know whether it’s one-week’s worth of yearning or embarrassment of what has transpired over their last conversation.

Despite it all, Alec is, and has always been, a sight to behold. Magnus may deprive himself of everything else, but this he’ll have. 

“Good morning.” Alec says and there’s difficulty in the way he does, but he hides it well, “Everything going okay?”

Magnus almost feels better at the words, the memory of drowned cabbage and eye corners crinkling into lines coming back to him. It doesn’t completely ease the small shame in his chest, but it makes a bit of a difference.

“Everything’s good.” Magnus answers, lips pressed tightly into a somewhat-smile, “Thank you for asking, Alexander.”

Alec has always been hard to read, but today Magnus struggles exceptionally. Eyes soft but burdened, smile almost tired. Magnus feels responsible. 

“It’s good to see you.” Alec says quietly, sincerely, and for _fuck’s sake_ if Magnus wasn’t confused before, he definitely is now.

“You could’ve fooled me.” Magnus tries for a tease, and he’s rewarded with a fond roll of the eyes.

“I was told I have something called a resting bitch face.” He says under his breath, a small quirk of the lip.

Magnus shrugs innocently. “I don’t see it.”

They share a small smile, a flourish of happiness permeating the space between them both. Magnus has missed their little banters over text, and to have a glimpse of it in face to face eases the heaviness in his chest even more. Alec looks more like the Alec Magnus has gotten to know since he’s decided to step one foot past the line that separates them both. In the same vein, he realizes how skittish Alec is, and how easily he draws the same foot back as if where Magnus stands, there’s fire.

Magnus doesn’t like being treated like he’s an occupational hazard. But Alec— _jesus_.

Lydia pokes her head out of the plane entrance. “We’re taking off in fifteen.” Her eyes flits between them both, and then to Jace who keeps his distance at the rear, who Magnus realizes is awkwardly waiting for them to get moving.

“Best continue that conversation en route.”

They end up sitting across each other in a more or less comfortable silence instead.

Magnus takes it. 

Magnus breathes in through the nose, out through the mouth. He seems to have taken his whole body along with him with every breath, shoulders lifting and dropping visibly that Alec notices from where he sits beside him. The UNICEF headquarters in New York is the biggest assembly room he’s ever been invited to speak in, and the once lively murmur that fills the air has now settled down into respectful silence as the summit starts. Henrietta Fore, the executive director of the organization, is making her introductory speech at the iconic, green granite podium, and the entire assembly hangs onto her every eloquent word. Suddenly his speech sounds unprofessional in his head.

Magnus takes another deep breath a bit shaky this time, and under the desk before him a touch alights onto his left hand, slight, but so distinctly there. It makes his gut swoop. 

“You’re going to rub off your fingerprints with what you’re doing.” Alec mutters under his breath, and Magnus realizes that he’s been rolling a non-existent bead between his pointer finger and thumb, a tick he’s developed when he’s in deep thought. 

“Nervous?” he continues, and Magnus doesn’t know whether the hand on his skin is making his nerves better or worse. 

“No,” Magnus answers in an equally low but playful murmur, “I breathe like I’m about to scream all the time.”

A small chortle bubbles from Alec’s throat, which he pushes down successfully. His hand leaves Magnus’, but the touch remains, like a burned mark on his skin. 

“You’ll be fine. You have a way with words.”

Magnus chuckles low. “Doesn’t pay off all the time.”

Magnus sees familiarity in Alec’s expression, that he knows what he specifically means, and it’s the wrong time and the wrong place, but they’re both thrown back to the last conversation they’ve had over text. 

“Alexander,” Magnus softly says, and Alec feels the world tilt at the sound of the name he’s never liked, “I’m know I made you uncomfortable.”

Alec grieves at the words. _No, you didn’t._

“You are important to me,”

_As you to me,_

“And I don’t want to lose you by wanting what I cannot have.”

_It’s you I can’t have._

Magnus looks at Alexander, as sincere as he can muster himself to be in that small window of a moment. “I’m sorry.”

Before Alec is able to answer or even thinks of something to answer with, Henrietta calls Magnus’ name, and the assembly bursts into a friendly applause. He rises to his feet, politely waves his hand in recognition of the warm welcome, and walks towards the stage.

Panic rises in Alec’s chest that he can’t explain, and his heart throttles in protest against his chest— _tell him, tell him everything_ , it says. But all Alec can do is watch as Magnus walks farther and farther away, out of reach in more ways than one.

Regret comes to him like a crashing wave.

_You’re a fucking idiot, Lightwood._

Jace emerges from the living room of the suite that is to be Magnus’ New York home for the next two days.

“All clear.” He says, and Lydia accompanies Magnus through the foyer of the what is essentially a five-star apartment. 

Waldorf Astoria spares no decadence for the guests they house in their presidential suite, and it shows in the rich velvet curtains and fancifully decorated walls. It has served as intermediary housing for the Banes before moving into the White House, and it has been home to many important figures since its construction. All of the presidents since 1931 including his own father has stayed one of these handful of suites, and so have many international leaders and high-ranking dignitaries. 

Magnus pads into the room, the same one him and his father had stayed in half a year ago, when they were still in the precipice of their lives changing forever. Knowing what’s to come, but not quite yet taking the step forward. An unusual limbo of some sort.

Magnus feels the invisible tension that holds his back rigidly, and the formality that keeps his expression polite and civil. He is so different now. He misses the freedom of breathing in and out like there’s nothing expected of him. 

And for once since everything changed, Magnus finds it in Alec. Or found. Now, he knows despite everything that it can’t be Alec. Not when he doesn’t know what he wants. Not when he is the person that he is, always torn between the martyrdom of duty and selfish yearning—and Magnus cannot fault him for it. Nor can he expect him to choose.

So, Magnus chooses for them both. He’s said his piece and it’s poor timing, but it’s done.

Alec passes in his periphery, almost like a slow-moving scene in a film, and Magnus hears him talk to Jace and Lydia, telling them to go ahead next door and that he will follow. Magnus feels a breath escape his lips gently, like he can foresee what is to come. He defensively draws himself closer, like a bullet-proof vest around his chest where he knows he’ll be hit whether Alec means to or not. 

The door snaps close. 

“Magnus.” Alec says quietly, barely under his breath, and Magnus feels it in his very bones. 

“Alexander, please.” Magnus mutters tiredly, turning towards him but not completely, eyes tracing the intricate lines of the carpet, “Don’t.” 

“I need to say this.” Alec says, firmer now, “And I need you to hear it.”

Magnus blinks, brow creased, and looks up at Alec who has carved out several feet from the distance between them.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Alec says, voice growing gentler again, “Nothing about you ever will.”

Magnus turns to Alec, and Alec is surprised to see confusion and anger twist Magnus’ expression. “Okay.” He says, a tremor in the singular word, “And now what?”

Alec looks at Magnus, startled, perplexed. “Now what, _what_?”

“What do you want me to do?” Magnus asks, firmly, “What are those words supposed to make me feel?”

Alec feels his own defenses rise, and it clenches his heart tightly, coiling it with anger. “You don’t need to do anything, Magnus,” he says, considerable heat in his words, “I just want you to know.”

“Has it crossed your mind that maybe I’d rather not know?” Magnus says, a lie but not a lie, because he used to want to know exactly what is in Alec’s mind, but not anymore now that he’s drawn his line on the sand.

“You tell me these things, you hold my hand, and then you let go like you’ve been burned.” Magnus can’t help but laugh unbelievingly, bitterly, “You want acquaintance, then you want friendship, then you want something else, and then decide you don’t.”

Alec stares at Magnus in disbelief, like he’s been swept off his feet by a crashing wave he hasn’t seen coming. Magnus stands before him like he’s ready to fight, shoulders tense, jaw clenched, and the thin wall holding back everything he has to say begins to crack under the pressure. It makes Alec’s chest twist in self-preservation, and his own anger swells within him. 

“This isn’t supposed to be an easy decision.” Alec grits, “Not between the two of us, not with who you are and who I am.”

“There isn’t a decision to be had!” Magnus’ voice thunders within the space, “You can’t choose, you never can, not the career you have and not with the obligation that it comes with, so I chose for us.”

“And what are you?” Alec _yells_ , disbelief pouring out of him like a gun shot wound to the heart, “Just your average president’s son? I’m not the only one who has responsibilities, Magnus, jesus!”

“I didn’t choose to be this!” Magnus explodes, like he’s accusing and pleading at the same time, “I’m only here because of circumstance!”

“Circumstance or not, you are who you are!” Alec explodes back with the same frustrated heat that broils his blood to a tipping point, “And I am who I am, and _I know_ I’ve been indecisive, but you can’t choose for me!”

“Then what do you choose?!” Magnus shouts, words erupting from his mouth like molten rock that has been kept there for centuries, and before they know it they stand face to face, distance decimated, lungs heaving breaths in, out.

In, 

Out.

Magnus refuses to back down, and he asks, _dares_ Alec with every fiber of his being, like he desperately wants to know.

“ _What the fuck do you want, Alexander?_ ”

With a question so plainly asked, all trappings stripped away, Alec immediately knows the answer. His hands reach for Magnus’ face and crushes his mouth against his, kissing deeply and desperately like the entire universe rests solely on the meeting point of their lips. A relieved sigh rises from Magnus throat as he kisses back with the same fervor, mouth falling open to give as much as he can and take equally as much. Magnus grasps onto the lapels of Alec’s suit jacket and he tugs it off, as if having it on is an offense. Alec’s hands abandon the line of Magnus’ neck so he can slip the jacket off his arms and toss it to the floor, and immediately he seeks to relieve Magnus’ dress shirt of its buttons. Fingers hook onto the belt loops of Alec’s pants and Magnus pulls them both back until they’re flush against the wall, and Magnus cradles the entirety of Alec’s warm weight against the line of his body.

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, hands palming needily against the skin made available for them to peruse, chest against chest, hips slotted in perfect alignment against each other just enough to pool warmth in their gut but not enough to take them away from the heat of their mouths moving together. What has been desperate has grown languid, and Alec catches Magnus’ bottom lip teasingly and it makes Magnus chuckle softly under his breath. They come apart, slowly, almost unwillingly, and Magnus leans his head back against the wall, glazed eyes softly looking into Alec’s.

_What now?_

“I choose you.” Alec says, breathless, like he’s known the answer all this time, opens the truths that exist within him, “I choose the one who says the right thing even if it’s hard. I choose the person I believe above all others.”

Alec’s hand cradles the line of Magnus’ jaw, fingers pressed lovingly over the curve of his cheek.

“I choose the kindest person I know.”

He runs a thumb softly over the edge of Magnus’ mouth, eyes tired but truthful. “But I can only choose for myself. Doesn’t matter what I think.”

Magnus nuzzles gently against the hand against his cheek and presses his own against it, intertwining their fingers together like intricate thread work. “Alexander.” He says, as soft as words can be soft, as gentle as voices can be gentle, “I think the world of what you think.”

“And I choose you.” Magnus murmurs, “Since the first time I saw you, I’ve chosen you.”

Alec can’t help the small smile on his thoroughly kissed lips. “Okay.”

Magnus just about giggles, the sound musical in Alec’s ears. “ _Okay?_ ”

Alec laughs back, and Magnus touches the crinkles in his eyes. “I’m just, I don’t know,” he shrugs dopily, brain in a state of complete bliss, “Enjoying the feeling.”

“Come to bed with me.” Magnus says, “I just want to hold you. It doesn’t have to be anything.”

Magnus pushes himself off the wall and his body mourns the loss of Alec’s weight against his. He tugs at their threaded fingers and leads them through the hallway and into the bedroom, all towering ceilings and a beautiful four-poster bed.

Alec chews on his bottom lip, smiling slightly. “And if I want it to be something?”

The words make Magnus smirk.

“We could do that too.”

Alec opens his eyes to darkness through the windows and nine o’clock blinking in red, digital numbers on the alarm clock on the night stand. 

He shifts and immediately he is reminded of the choices he’s made today. His choice lays his head on his chest, arm draped loosely around his waist, legs tangled against his in ways that Alec couldn’t figure out with sleep still in his eyes. The cradle of Alec’s arm is filled with shoulders that rise in up and down in steady breaths, the calmest Alec has ever seen on him. 

Uncertainty floods Alec's veins like oxygenated blood as he looks down the barrel of what is to come in the future. The strategist in him provides with a hundred different ways this could all go wrong—if they’re not careful, this could happen, if they’re caught by one nosy camera, that could happen—and suddenly the calm silence in his mind is overtaken by back door exits and contingency plans to things that haven’t even happened yet.

But he reaches down, really deep down where his heart beats against the cage of his ribs, and finds that the only thing of certainty right now is that he’s made no mistake choosing Magnus. Regret is starkly absent within every inch of Alec’s body. Despite every crash and burn scenario his mind provides, Alec knows that Magnus is the hard choice, but he’s the right choice. The best choice. 

“Stop overthinking.” Magnus yawns sleepily, hand patting blindly upwards to teasingly pinch at Alec’s cheek. He ends up bonking his nose. 

“Ow,” Alec snickers-groans, rubbing the spot, “How’d you even know?”

“Your heartbeat was going 150 per minute.” Magnus laughs, craning his head back to look at Alec. 

Magnus brings himself up for a kiss, a struggle he’s figured early on in this new relationship, and Alec cheekily leans down to meet him halfway. _You’re a literal tree_ , Magnus laughs earlier that day when they fall onto the bed, _a tree that one day I’ll climb the hell out of_. Alec feels the words shoot straight down his groin and it takes every inch of his sanity to keep ‘something’ from turning into ‘everything’. (What can he say? He still believes in romantic first times.)

They kiss nice and slow, like they’ve got all the time in the world—or they want this period of time to stretch as far as it can go.

“Any regrets?” Magnus asks softly, and it makes Alec smile like he’s heard something funny.

“You’re the one thing I’m sure of.” Alec admits, and it pools warmth within Magnus chest. 

Magnus smiles, sunlit and glorious.

“Okay.”

“Just pull it.”

Alec looks at Magnus, perplexed. “Literally pull it?”

Magnus looks at Alec like he can’t understand where the confusion is coming from. “Yes, Alexander, how else would you harvest something from the ground?”

Alec is kneeling over the vegetable plot he’s worked on for a few months. Lush carrot tops have sprung from the earth and has completely taken over, and Magnus has to sweep some of the leafy parts away so he could check the soil for crowning. Alec adjusts his gloves against his hands, braces one hand on the wooden box, and grasps the base of the carrot tops firmly.

“Okay,” he says, “Here I go.”

With one strong tug he unearths the root crop from the ground, and momentum of it throws Alec onto flat onto his butt with a loud _oof_. Magnus tries to bite his lip to reign in the laugh that bursts from his throat, but it makes its way out quicker than he’s ever anticipated, mingling into the air like music. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Alec tries for annoyance, but finds that he couldn’t at the sight of Magnus’ head thrown back, eyes pinched in happiness, a hand on his heart. It makes him snicker at his own foolishness, if anything. There’s nothing more contagious, Alec has grown to realize, than Magnus’ joy. 

“That was adorable.” Magnus sighs, wiping actual tears from his eyes, “Seeing agents in some kind of disarray over simple things is truly a blessing.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but with no real heat to it. “Don’t get used to it.”

Magnus goes from sitting on his heels to crossing his legs underneath him, settling down onto the grass next to Alec, smiling. “Shame. You’re quite adorable flustered.”

Alec, secret service agent Alec, ex-military and uniformed division officer Alec, positively blushes at the words, like he can withstand whole-day army drills, but not gently dispensed, innocent flirtations. Magnus knows this and blissfully revels at the ease of it all, and as if on cue an adoring laugh tumbles out of his lips at the sight of Alec’s flushed cheeks. 

It’s been a week since New York, since the choices they’ve made, and the truths that has pushed through the verdant earth. Like young seedlings Magnus and Alec have elected to start slow, careful, knowing that where they grow, rocks jut out in the most inopportune places. But they take the sunlight and breathe out oxygen in return—they flourish, they kiss, and touch, and whisper, and talk. It’s not easy, but it’s right.

They finish their work and Alfie takes the carrots to get washed up in the dirty kitchen, and he looks at them both like he knows and happy that he knows. 

“I’m going to close off the Children’s Garden for hedge maintenance.” He says with a small smile, “Do not enter sign, barrier, the whole shebang.”

Magnus chuckles, and Alec smiles at his hands. 

Alfie shrugs nonchalantly. “Thought you two oughta know.”

“Thank you.” Magnus says, grateful for the small kindness.

He turns to Alec, eyes bright with mirth. “If you don’t mind walking me there, agent?”

Alec presses his lips together, trying hard not to smile so wide, and nods once. “Of course, sir.”

They walk, distance kept, hands in their pockets, but words softly spoken. They give the world's prying eyes nothing but a carefully crafted lie. But their choices, their truths—those they hold close to their hearts, like beautiful flowers. 

And for now, they leave it at that.


End file.
